


Escape Pod

by Adenil



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: A long narrow pod in a hidden crevice, Accidental Sex, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Non-Human Genitalia, human genitalia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 20:44:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11365290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: Spock’s shoulder flexed, tense, and then the panel popped off. He stumbled back into McCoy and McCoy grabbed him automatically, one hand falling to the bare skin on his arm. Grime clung to him, and sweat. He glistened.“Can you hurry up?” McCoy hissed against one pointed ear.





	Escape Pod

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted on [tumblr](http://adenil-umano.tumblr.com/post/162464440630/mccoy-getting-turned-on-cos-spock-is-fixing-an): McCoy getting turned on cos Spock is fixing an engine in a torn shirt, Spock getting turned on cos McCoy is watching him like that, then they're both having a tough time hiding it while cramped together behind a wall to protect themselves from enemy fire. The situation takes off when McCoy accidentally pulls Spock's hair/whispers in his ear/squeezes his hand and Spock reacts quite obviously

Spock’s shoulder flexed, tense, and then the panel popped off. He stumbled back into McCoy and McCoy grabbed him automatically, one hand falling to the bare skin on his arm. Grime clung to him, and sweat. He glistened.

“Can you hurry up?” McCoy hissed against one pointed ear.

Spock ripped away from him and pressed himself flush against the wall. He buried his busy hands in the machinery, moving so fast he seemed to blur.

They were stuffed together in an escape pod made for one after narrowly escaping the security guards patrolling the planet. A short dash away from where people had quite rudely started shooting at them they had found the pod wedged just out of sight in a crevice. They both hopped in and hunkered down while Spock tried to sweet talk the engine into starting up again.

McCoy shifted and tried to lean further away. There was really no where else to go, as he was already pressed fully against the left-hand wall. He worried if he stuck his head out he’d get it blown off. He shifted from foot to foot, nervous, and watched Spock dig through the wires. Spock had gotten in a scuffle with one of the guards that had ripped his shirt sleeve right off and exposed most of his upper chest and right shoulder. McCoy would have teased Spock about imitating Jim, except his adrenaline was too high for levity.

“Did he injure you at all?”

“I am well, Doctor. Please remain silent.”

He pursed his lips, annoyed. He half wanted to start talking again just to spite the implacable Vulcan. Instead he bit at his tongue and strained to listen for any sign the guards were approaching.

Somewhere a rock fell and he jumped, bumping against Spock. “What was that?”

“Doctor, please,” Spock said, _sotto voce_. “My hearing is superior to yours. I will know if an enemy approaches.”

“I’d feel a hell of a lot better if we just got out of here.”

“The escape pod was not designed for a second engine start,” Spock said simply.

McCoy watched his hands splay over the wires. From here he had a pretty good view of the back of Spock’s head, his long neck, the not-so-demure exposure of his shoulder. Spock’s arm was fit and strong, sloping to the blunt palm of his hand and long fingers. McCoy counted the freckles on Spock’s shoulder and bit at his lip.

Spock shifted and reached down to press a button, accidentally brushing back against McCoy.

He held his breath, splaying his hands against the wall behind him, and tried to talk himself out of getting aroused. Dammit, this was not the time. He tried to tell himself it was just the adrenaline, just a fear response, but the excuse fell flat. It was Spock, really. His long back against McCoy’s chest, arms working, hands looking imminently kissable, mind likely calculating a thousand possibilities a second, ears upturned and lickable. Every part of Spock was screaming to be touched and McCoy thanked his lucky stars that Spock was too busy to notice him.

Suddenly Spock turned his face to the side, apparently listening intently.

“What is it?” McCoy hissed.

“I believe I hear something.” Spock grabbed the side of the pod and started to haul himself upward.

Panicked, McCoy grabbed at him. His fingers slipped over Spock’s bare shoulder, and so he reached higher to grab a fistful of Spock’s hair and yank him back down, crowding Spock against the back wall of the pod. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Attempting to assess the situation,” Spock said calmly, his face pressed against the head cushion.

“You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“I do not believe the danger is that high. Doctor, do you intend to hold me here indefinitely?”

McCoy realized suddenly he hadn’t let go of Spock’s hair. Indeed, that he had laid himself over Spock in a protective position that was also just-this-side of lewd. One of his legs was between Spock’s, spreading him open. Spock’s hands were loosely clenched by his head. He could feel Spock breathing funny--fast and stilted--but he couldn’t see Spock’s face.

He let go of Spock abruptly and tried to move away, but he didn’t have very far to go. “I-I just--well, that’s what you get for trying to do something so fool-headed!”

“I will attempt to close the pod door first,” Spock said simply, moving to do so. It involved work at chest level and he had to push back further to give himself space. “That will provide soundproofing. Until then please refrain from speaking.”

McCoy mightily resisted the urge to insist it was Spock who was doing all the talking. Instead, he bit down on his tongue and tried to focus on the sharp pain instead of the arousal coiling in his belly. Adrenaline, he insisted manically to himself. Just adrenaline. Fight, flight, or fuck.

Spock twisted again, setting aside a handful of wires, and his ass brushed against McCoy’s front. McCoy bit his lip. He was already getting a little hard in his pants. He silently begged Spock not to notice.

He wished he could have just a moment to compose himself, but there was really nothing he could do. They were crammed to tightly and all he could do was watch Spock work, breath in the scent of his minor exertion. God, he smelled good. That peculiar Vulcan scent that always made McCoy quake in his boots.

“How long’s this thing going to take?” he groused.

“Perhaps twenty more minutes.”

He was going to die. If the guards didn’t find them first he would die of embarrassment, skewered on Spock’s blithe indifference. “That long?”

“I can only work at the speed at which I am able, give the distraction of—” His words abruptly died as he shifted back and against McCoy’s very unsubtle erection.

McCoy gasped at the light pressure of Spock’s ass against him. He tried to move away but he couldn’t. The wall behind him was solid. “...I’m sorry.”

“You need not apologize for the reactions of your body,” Spock whispered. “It is...an autonomic response?”

“Humans...sometimes respond this way to stressful situations.” He was willing to stretch the truth just this once.

“I see.” Spock moved again to the panel that operated the door, which forced him against McCoy more fully. They were pressed against one another back to front, from shoulder to knee. “As we cannot change the situation, would it be better to alleviate it?”

“Alleviate…?”

Spock’s fingertips were stained with the grease of the pod as he reached behind himself and took one of McCoy’s hands. He placed it on his hip and said, “You may alleviate yourself, Doctor.”

McCoy, standing with his nose in Spock’s hair, his dick against Spock’s ass, could not believe for a moment that Spock was proposing what he was proposing. He tightened his grip on Spock’s hip and Spock widened his stance, pressing back against McCoy enticingly and--holy shit. Spock was really proposing he rub himself off in this tiny, cramped escape pod while Spock worked to free them.

“Spock—”

“Quietly, please. We do not wish to draw the attention of the guard searching for us.”

God fucking-- _quietly_? Not very likely. Spock was already moving again, hands flying over the wires, shifting this way and that in a way that made his ass draw over McCoy’s hips with every motion, light as a feather. McCoy gripped him tightly and shut his eyes tight, silently begging for deliverance.

And then he started moving.

He literally could not have stopped himself. He told himself he would just take the edge off and then be done with it. Spock was just trying to be logical; it was _McCoy_ who was letting his silly human emotions get in the way. Was lust an emotion? Probably. After his first aborted thrust against Spock’s rear he stopped caring.

He thrust jerkily against Spock, half expecting the Vulcan to simply reach back and nerve pinch him to get rid of the distraction. Perhaps the only reason he hadn’t was because it was too difficult to turn around in the confined space. Spock’s hands looked so good buried in the console, long fingers entangled in wires. McCoy just wanted to put them in his mouth. He knew Vulcans were into that--indeed, he’d spent a lot of time fantasizing about sucking on those fingers just to make Spock come apart. He tried not to think about that, about what it would be like if he took on of Spock’s hands in his and squeezed, drew the pad of his thumb over Spock’s knuckles, jerked off his fingers like they were a cock. Could he make Spock come like that? God, he hoped so. It would be so good to have Spock fall apart beneath him. What did Spock look like when he came? Did he moan? Would his mouth taste sweet as honey as he gasped for more?

McCoy realized he was moaning when Spock pressed back against him, strong enough to hold him still.

“Doctor,” Spock said, looking outside furtively. “Your noise level.”

“I’m sorry, sorry.” His addled mind barely computed that them talking was actually quite a lot louder than his breathy moans had been.

Spock reached behind him and grabbed the back of McCoy’s head, tugging him down so McCoy’s mouth rested against his bare neck and shoulder. “Bite down.”

“Wha—?” he asked, bewildered.

“To muffle the sound. Bite down.”

McCoy did so immediately, closing his teeth against the flutter of Spock’s pulse. He could feel Spock’s blood rush beneath his tongue and _good Lord_. Spock tasted even better than he smelled. Metallic, yet sweet, and his skin was so papery smooth, denting as McCoy stifled his next moan with a clench of teeth.

He held Spock’s hip and thrust as Spock worked on the console. And just seeing him work was enticing; Spock’s analytical mind was just as attractive as his body. He could work through anything, even a human biting at his neck, thrusting against him, and God, McCoy was going to lose it because it wasn’t _enough_. The pressure was so good, so perfect, but it was too steady, and his dick was pinched uncomfortably in his underwear. He needed more. He need to thrust against Spock and feel his skin, the arousal of his body. He bit down harder and Spock shuddered.

Now there was something. McCoy tried licking at the spot, but the reaction was muted. When he applied his teeth Spock shifted and spread his legs a little further apart. When he actually bit--Spock gasped.

Spock’s fingers stuttered over the wires. “Doctor.”

“...Do you want me to stop?”

“I will not be able to...contain my reactions.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt—”

“It does not hurt.”

Shit. Fuck. Was that a confession? It wasn’t just about a pain-reaction to biting. Spock was _turned on_. Apparently desperately, illogically so. The thought erased all others from his mind and McCoy closed his mouth around the side of Spock’s neck and sucked.

Spock hitched in a breath, arching his head to the side so McCoy had more access. He let McCoy suck a mouth-bruise on the cord of his neck, another on the junction of his shoulder, the edge of his jaw, and damn. Spock wasn’t going to stop him for anything. Spock was encouraging him with little rolls of his hip, his arched back pressing his ass tightly against McCoy’s erection.

“Doctor,” Spock tried again, a weak protest.

“Shh,” McCoy said. “Spock, you’re too loud.”

“I...cannot—” He stopped.

Oh, McCoy realized, that was because McCoy was shoving fingers into his mouth. He hadn’t even--he was starting to lose control of what he was doing as Spock opened his mouth willingly--desperately--sucking in his two forefingers to stifle a moan. Spock’s tongue twined around him.

The panel before them lit up and the pod door closed with a whoosh of air.

The door sliding shut shoved them closer together, stifling in the tiny space. McCoy knew that meant they didn’t need to be as quiet. He could stop biting Spock and take his hand out of Spock’s mouth. But suddenly both of Spock’s hands were on his, shoving his fingers deeper, and Spock’s head was lolling back, and he tasted so good, so good that McCoy promptly forgot about ever removing himself from Spock’s body.

He left another bite mark that had Spock gasping and sucking greedily at his fingers. Occasionally, Spock reached forward and fiddled with some of the wires, and that just wouldn’t do.

McCoy drew his hand around the front of Spock’s hips, sliding his two middle fingers between Spock’s legs and over the mounds of his slit. Spock gasped at the touch, bucking back against him, knocking against his dick uncomfortably. His damned underwear were biting into him.

“Spock, I’m not gonna--I don’t think I can get ‘alleviated’ like this.”

Spock’s hands dropped from the console to the fastener on his uniform pants. He slipped open the magnetic seal and dropped them around his hips, exposing the high curve of his ass.

“Fuck,” McCoy said intelligently. He looked out the pod door, panicked. He was going to get caught with his pants down, he realized. What a way to go.

He couldn’t care less. He disentangled his hand from Spock’s mouth and fumbled with his own pants. He could barely back up far enough to get a hand in between them and shove down his pants and underwear, and he groaned as his cock hit the open air. He couldn’t resist cupping Spock’s ass, drawing his palms over the swell of muscle as Spock hitched in a breath.

“We must proceed quickly,” Spock said.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” He started to simply rub off on Spock’s ass, slipping between the crack in a way that made Spock gasp, but then he saw Spock’s hand reach down between his legs.

“Doctor, please.”

“Yeah, okay, I—”

“Allow me to—”

“If you’d just hold your horses, you’d see I’m--mm!”

Spock grabbed his dick and slid it between his thighs before closing his legs tightly. Spock was wet there already, pouring out from his slit and wetting the top of McCoy’s cock, making it easier than anything to slide into the tight space Spock created.

“You just want me to—”

“Thrust, Doctor.”

“I’m thrusting, God dammit, just hold on.”

Spock did, grabbing the warped metal of the destroyed console and gripping it tightly. It bent at the edges as McCoy began to thrust. His length just barely peaked out the front; he could feel the cool air with each punishing movement. Spock was really dripping now, his slit creating a space for McCoy to run the length of his cock over, and McCoy could just start to feel Spock’s own dick poking curiously out. McCoy grabbed his hip with one hand and turned him half against the back wall of the shuttle. He remembered how Spock had reacted to his accidental-hair pulling earlier and he decided to test a theory.

Spock groaned, deep and throaty, as McCoy yanked back his head. McCoy kept his grip firm as he kissed down the side of Spock’s neck to layer more bites. Spock was already riddled with them, and with hickies that were bruised brilliant emerald, all in the shape of McCoy’s mouth. He tasted Spock’s sweat and desire.

“Doctor,” Spock said, high and thready.

“Nnn?” McCoy moaned against Spock’s shoulder.

“Would you...penetrate me?”

Fuck. He could picture it. He wanted it, bad. He bit down hard against Spock’s shoulder just to hear Spock gasp. “I can’t. I--Spock, I can’t like this. We’re too close. Not enough space. Don’t have anything. Next--I can do it next time.”

“That would be,” Spock said between breathy pants, “Most gratifying.”

“God, I can see you now,” McCoy said, trailing his palm over to cup Spock’s wet slit. Spock shuddered at his touch. “Get you down on your knees, so good for me. Spread those pretty legs of yours. You like that?”

“Yes.”

“I can open you up with my hands. You like them, Spock. I know you do. Saw you sucking so pretty for me. I’ll use them to—” He groaned as Spock’s cock finally slid out into his palm, hard and long, thick, wet as anything and sensitive. “To...to open you, darlin’.” He started stroking as Spock arched against him. “One finger, then two. Until you’re wet and needy, dripping for it. Love how wet you get.”

“Doctor…” Spock’s voice was high, shattered, broken like glass.

“Shh.” McCoy nipped at him again, soothing. “Shh, darlin’, come on. Will you come for me? God, watching you work--I just want to open you up Spock and get in you, slide my dick right inside that tight ass of yours. Pull your hair like—” He demonstrated and Spock gasped in pleasure. “I see how riled up it gets you.”

“I am not...riled,” Spock protested weakly.

“Uh-huh. Then maybe I’ll do it just to see your back arch, make you get tight around my dick, so I can fill you up better. How’s that sound?”

“...Acceptable.”

McCoy laughed. “You want that.”

Silence broken only by the wet slide of their bodies, and then, “Yes. Please.”

“I’ll give it to you.” He started stroking faster. He wished he had more hands, so that he could make Spock suck on his fingers. He thrust into the tightness between Spock’s legs as Spock’s hot wetness poured over his cock. “I’ll give that to you, darlin’, just give me this right now. Come on, let me see you--let me see you come. I want to know, I have to know, I—”

Spock went rigid, a thin keening moan pouring painfully from his throat. His thrusts into McCoy’s hand stuttered as his dick throbbed, a few beads of clear moisture dripping out.

“Yeah, yeah…” McCoy placed his hand on the back of Spock’s neck and for leverage, thrusting. He kept touching Spock as Spock made weak sounds of distressed pleasure.

He snapped his hips forward as the pleasure drew down into his spine, and he had to have Spock in his mouth, so he bit him, sucked a green bruise as Spock groaned and quaked around him, and he came between Spock’s velvety thighs.

He stayed pressed against Spock, panting into his neck. Spock was shaking slightly. His hands were loose against the wall. Slowly, McCoy pulled away, leaving a trail of white come between Spock’s legs.

“Shit,” he muttered. He tried to wipe away the evidence but then had nowhere to put it, so he wiped his hand on Spock’s hip. He was really just spreading the problem around and so he quit.

“Do not...concern yourself, Doctor,” Spock said, face still pressed against the cushion on the back wall. “I do not mind.”

“...Really?” McCoy buttoned his pants and then helped Spock, who seemed incapable of moving at the moment. “I would think that would disturb your Vulcan sense of propriety.”

“It is merely your mark.”

McCoy gulped a few times. He stared at the mess of bruises and bite marks on Spock’s shoulder and wondered what Jim was going to think. They couldn’t even hide it, since Spock’s shirt was ripped.

Spock seemed to regain some of his strength. “Doctor, I must access the panel behind you.”

“Okay, how do you want me?” He winced. “I mean, how should we do this?”

“Perhaps if we…”

It took some serious finagling for two grown men to move around in the tiny space, but then Spock was turned around so they were facing. It was too difficult for McCoy to shift over to the opposite side of the pod and so instead he stared cross-eyed at the bridge of Spock’s nose as Spock reached above him, popped off the panel, shifted a few things around, and the engine roared to life.

“I thought you said it would take twenty minutes,” McCoy said, incredulous.

“That estimate factored in the distraction imposed by our arousal.”

 _Our_ arousal. McCoy smiled, giddy. “Oh?”

“Indeed.” There was the sound of some beeping and the pod began to shake. “Thankfully, the issue has been dealt with.”

“Oh,” McCoy said, disappointed. “Permanently?”

The pod shook even more as the engines roared to life. Spock leaned back against the far wall--which was really not very far at all--and studied McCoy. “Not at all,” he said simply. “In fact I believe you have already been making plans.”

“When we get back to the _Enterprise_...”

Spock slid forward, twining their legs together. His hand came to the side of McCoy’s face, stroking. He seemed about to say something but instead his face softened. His brown eyes glittered and he leaned in to slide their lips together, gentle.

Later, he would make something up about needing to treat Spock’s bruises, and Jim would give them both an incredulous look as they ran down the hall together towards Spock’s quarters, away from Sickbay. Now, he kissed Spock as the pod lifted into the air and out of harm’s way. He touched the freckles on Spock’s bare shoulder, and grinned.


End file.
